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Michelle’s eyes were red and bloodshot. The Mother Abbess, while thankful, could not be brought to consent to allow the girl out of her charge alone with unknown servants, and Martha was delegated to accompany her erstwhile nurseling to the homeland she had thought never to see again. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles.
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